


Birds

by ChibiFoxx



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mastermind remembers, One other too, Repeat fic, Saihara remembers, Saihara slowly figures everything out, Symbolism, The birds are there for a reason aside from symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 07:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20042218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiFoxx/pseuds/ChibiFoxx
Summary: Saihara relives the killing game over and over again, tortured by his inability to forget. Repeatedly, he is unable to prevent the murders, stuck in a mire of loneliness and self-blame.Just before he is driven to the brink of insanity, he realises that he isn't alone.





	Birds

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by ‘Birds’ – Imagine Dragons.
> 
> Hey all!
> 
> I've been following Danganronpa for a long time now, and it's only with V3's release do I feel compelled to write something for a fandom that has brought me to literal tears (though it is a bit late). It kept me going through my college semester lol, and I really wish to give back to this small fandom (also for closure because let's be honest, we all need it after the game).
> 
> I know that my last fic (APA) is due for an update, and for those still following it, please pardon this break, I'm terribly sorry... I wish to get back into writing proper, and this marks the start of it. I hope to churn out more stories from now on! <3

Shuichi stared at his hands. It had been them, only them, the three survivors. The first step beyond the rubble felt once sacred, felt surreal rather than stolid, and freedom felt like a far-flung concept. They were finally outside. He remembered the sunset bleeding into hues of vermillion, illuminating the velvet silhouettes of towering skyscrapers in the distance. The crooked trees were wreathed in the evening mist, the taste of air crisp enough to bring forth tears. The world outside was -

But here he was, staring at the ceiling beams, lying on icy-cold tiles that embraced him like an old friend. ‘Welcome back,’ the silence screamed. ‘Welcome home.’ And the detective could only stand in shaky disbelief, sweeping his hand over each polished surface as he reacquainted himself with the classroom. ‘It couldn’t be,’ he thought. ‘There’s just no way.’

He examined himself with growing hysteria: The crest on his uniform, the hat on his head, the hems of his pants that nipped at his ankles like a boisterous puppy. He turned abruptly, feeling the sides of the locker he had fallen out of just a few minutes’ prior. The tightness in his chest unwound like a knot, but when he found what he was looking for, his lungs seized up like they had been filled with cold water.

A dent in the metal, from when he had forced the locker open the first time. There were no identical marks, and the flaw was unmistakable. Shuichi, for all his misgivings, trusted his eidetic memory. But he found these implications hard to swallow, and once more he found himself standing at crossroads, torn between believing and rejecting what he fervently wished was untrue.

Gritting his teeth, he moved to try the door, steps hushed to a whisper, as if he was afraid to arouse a sleeping monster. The door doesn't open. Jiggling the knob harder now, hoping he had been mistaken. It doesn't budge an inch, and he staggered back, knocking into desks and chairs.

"Harukawa-san?" His voice cracked. "Yumeno-san?"

The silence laughed at him in response.

"Harukawa-san." Shuichi tried again, holding on to the hope that the assassin would come barrelling through the door, the epitome of a man wronged.

Running to the barred windows, he tore at the thorny wires until a sticky wetness trickled down his palms, and they slipped from his grip, obscuring his view once more. But he had seen enough, and the school was as intact as it had been before K1-BO had flown into a destructive rage. The windows were no longer painted over, and the dome outside looked Herculean, untouchable, perfect, stretching well-beyond the courtyard. Like a firefly in an upturned bell jar, he felt exceedingly small, and he stepped away from the windows shakily.

He remembered them all. The innocent, the framed, the murdered. Convoluted trials, some smoke and mirrors, others not. Most didn't want to die, never wanted to die, determined to drag their battered bodies to the light at the end of the tunnel even if they were beaten within an inch of their life. Every trial a pyrrhic victory, the students dropping like flies until only three remained, and he lorded over their bodies, burdened with the world’s most irreplaceable treasure – a life to see through to the end.

_'Impossible.'_ Shuichi let his back hit the blackboard, sliding to the floor with a hand over his mouth. _This had to be an elaborate ruse. A sick, sadistic joke made in poor taste, because there was no technology so omnipotent - '_

A warbled scream jolted him to his senses, and he looked to his right to see a blond girl fall out of the locker next to his. There were only two lockers in the room, and they were sitting side-by-side, as a strategic placement of sorts. Her hair was tousled, dappled in deep tones of amber-gold, vest askew. Her eyes flickered up to meet his, and he felt his heart seize painfully in his chest. Fuschia pink, like misty dawn, dazed and confused.

_'No technology so omnipotent to bring someone back to life.'_

The girl jumped at the sight of him, hands drawn in front of her chest protectively, opening her mouth to scream -

"Y-you're alive." Shuichi said, voice a hoarse whisper, sounding offensively loud. Then softer, "...how?"

The air stilled. The static in his head fizzled and popped, mind running into overdrive, filled with rampant thoughts. 

"Sorry,” came the reply, intoned perfectly, lilting like a well-composed tune. A voice he knew very well, appearing in dreams too recurrent for his liking. The girl's smile was soft, cautious, but her gaze wielded a biting edge. "Have we met before?"

Shuichi's stomach coiled something nasty, lodging a stone of pure dread in his throat. She fidgeted under his stare, compelled to break the ice, but at a loss for the words to say.

"You don't remember?” Shuichi croaked, and the words wouldn't flow, stuck in a muddy slough of hurt and disbelief. The girl shook her head, and he felt himself falling, falling through the floorboards, with nothing to break his descent. When she spoke again, her inquiry was hesitant, quivering with nerves.

"I don't really understand... but," the girl trailed off, her usual conviction oddly absent, "I guess we should introduce ourselves."

'No.' Shuichi thought, grappling wildly for any semblance of control. 'There was no need for something so unnecessary, we've already met - '

Heedless of his claims, she began introducing herself as the Ultimate Pianist, diving into a monologue. But he already knew of her monikers, her insecurities made imperceptible to the undiscerning eye - _'piano freak', 'all she was good for'_ \- and it felt like he was being made to watch a rerun of a film, muted in sound and colour.

"...what about yours?"

She paused, sending an expectant look his way. But he couldn't think, much less speak, eyes downcast, searching for a mutilation in the floorboards, any indication of his unwilling residence in a dream. The dull hum of compressors melded in harmony with the frantic beats of his heart, thunderous in his ears, and Saihara clenched his fingers, steeling himself.

"Saihara. Saihara Shuichi." He waited for a response, reaching for his bangs, tracing the outline of his jaw, his face - he needed a mirror, perhaps he looked different, and she should still remember his name - but the girl brightened, her relief plain to see, and his hopes were snuffed out immediately.

"I see," she replied airily, and the detective felt the curdling feeling coil even tighter. "The fact that we are here together... does that mean you are an Ultimate too, Saihara-kun?"

The final nail in the coffin, affirming the inconceivable. Shuichi felt his hopes go down the drain like pot liquor, flavoured with an amalgamation of memories which he'd tried in vain to salvage. "I - "

Breaking, his voice doesn't allow him to continue. He emitted a soft, keening sound, before a ragged sob tore free from his throat, and he keeled over, letting out an entire game’s worth of sadness and regret. The walls echoed back his misery, howling, a sorrowful dirge for the non-existent.

“I-I’m sorry.” Shuichi thought of infinite things to say in entertaining the fantasy of meeting her again, but not like this. Late apologies meant nothing to those who couldn't even remember what they were for, and reunions were meaningless in the eyes of those who were seeing him for the first time. “I wasn't good enough, I couldn't figure it out until it was too late, and- "

_You were framed. Sorry, I'm so sorry._

Akamatsu could only look at him sadly, helplessly, with the kind of reserve one would expect when meeting a complete stranger. Something in Shuichi twisted, thrashing against his ribs like a wild bird caged in for the first time, tempted with the view of the drunken sky, so close within reach.

_'What good were shared memories that were solely his own? What good were lives, once thought irreplaceable, now thought to be manufactured?'_

Monokuma's laughter rang harshly in his psyche, plaguing him with a venom that froze him shock-still. In a killing game which only existed to entertain the vile and heartless, this brand of sick humour was not beyond them. A banishment, a cruelty that he'd been sentenced to, for willingly defying them at the end. But it couldn't be, the votes were cast previously, and the audience was against the continuation of Danganronpa- unless it was all a lie, just for this sickening repeat-

"Saihara-kun?"

Shuichi lifted his head, heavy with sombreness. The Ultimate Pianist was sporting a tentative frown, and it struck him then - they were watching, always watching - the Nanokumas made sure of it, and even now, everything up to this point was no mistake. In that very instant, he made up his mind, trembling at the implications.

"...the Ultimate Detective," it hung in the air, goading, leaving something to be desired, "I..."

The lie festered on his tongue like a ball of sin, rousing bile to the back of his throat. In his mind's eye, he closed the chapters tight, tighter, shelving them away. "...I don't think we've met before."

His conscience bristled something fierce, repulsed by his act, his blatant lie, struggling with his innate nature to pursue the truth to the end.

But Akamatsu seemed happy with his answer, her smiles and words radiating vibrant, hopeful energy, naivete painfully clear. A stark contrast to his weary outlook, and he'd wondered, wondered, wondered - if he was to be alone for the rest of his days, set to navigate this emotional minefield all by his lonesome. 

In the distance, a lone blackbird cried out, sending leaves aflutter, stirring the beginnings of a storm.

And the world was still.

* * *

Shuichi had been hesitant to leave Akamatsu, dancing about the irrational thought that she might disappear like a wayward leaf in the wind the moment he'd left her. But curiosity won out, and he'd slipped away with an excuse when she was occupied with Tenko and Himiko in the dining hall, desperate to check on the state of the courtyard.

No longer ruined, the place looked an exact copy of how Shuichi had remembered it around the time of the first murder. A pang of emotion welled forth, and he felt weak, overcome with fatigue. The Monokubs had yet to reintroduce the killing game, and the atmosphere was pleasant, dripping with saccharine tranquillity, hiding a sinister reveal.

Shuichi ran into her by chance, outside the dormitories. Their introductions were stilted, and despite his best efforts at hiding them, his injuries don't escape her scrutiny.

Tojo doesn’t inquire about them. With a gentle hand, she led him to her room and began her ministrations with an efficiency fitting of the Ultimate Maid. Watching the very same black gloves move to wrap gauze around his shallow cuts, he felt his mouth go dry. The state of her own hands had been far worse when she’d been made to climb the thorny vine, beyond desperate to escape, and he’d been the one to sentence her to that fate.

“Does it still hurt?”

The detective shook his head wordlessly, gaze affixed to his bandaged palms.

"You seem extremely saddened," the maid noted, tone softening. "Is anything the matter? I may not be able to fully empathise, but I am as good a listener as any."

Shuichi bit his lip, curbing the onslaught of memories; her undignified form, frenzied screams, synonymous with that of a cornered, desperate animal, regressing back to age-old survival instincts.

The detective elected to shake his head again, because he'd figured there was no appropriate, acceptable way for him to vocalise his regret. No proper way to say: _'I'm sorry, but there was no other way and you shouldn't have, it was a trick, an empty motive, he didn't deserve to die but neither did- '_ The thought ended there, and he wondered if asking for forgiveness from a murderer was justified in any context.

"Tojo-san," Shuichi said tentatively, clenching his fists in his lap, "were you ever instructed to stand in as the Prime Minister... or something to that effect?"

The Ultimate Maid frowned at him bemusedly. "No, I do not recall being tasked with such a role. Though I am open to it, I must admit that politics and governance have never been in my area of expertise."

Not a spark of recognition, not a twitch to betray any deceit. Fresh-faced, unmarred by guilt; and he had inadvertently brought her to the gallows, to her own demise and death.

Tojo tilted her head at him, ever observant. "If you don't mind me asking, Saihara-kun, why do you need to know?"

Shuichi raised a hand to his mouth, deliberating, then set it back in his lap after a moment. "Can you promise me something, Tojo-san?"

"As the Ultimate Maid, I am obliged to serve all of my classmates' needs to the best of my abilities."

"Please, don't hurt anyone." A pause, and he watched a flash surprise cross her face, "...even if it is for the greater good, or even if they never wanted to live- "

Hoshi's skeletal corpse was burned into his memory, sinking to the bottom of the bloody tank, marking the successful execution of a near-perfect murder plan.

"- even if the world believed that they would be better off without him- "

Blood, overflowing, dividing into rivers of red, running down the sides of cool metal, _he never knew that such a small body could hold so much blood_-

"- no murder is ever justified." Finished softly, with a touch of wistful sadness, and the maid's gaze softened further, clouded with a brand of impartial empathy. But Tojo nodded regardless, and the detective decided that it was reassurance enough. She brought a finger to her chin after a moment, a sudden thought, but before she could speak her mind a shrill noise jilted them both, and the intercom in the room spluttered to life.

The monitor jumpstarted, revealing the five Monokubs luxuriating on a velvet couch, each holding a coloured drink within their bulbous paws.

"Hiiii! Thanks for bear-ing with us!" Monophanie chirped, breaking the monotony as the rest of the Monokubs settled into their roles. Monokid's crude laughter followed as he rubbed his blue belly distressingly- "Kept you bastards waiting, huh!?"- and the theatrical announcement resumed, scripted-like.

"Everyone, make your way to the gym please." Monotaro cheerfully supplied, and Monokid laughed again, striking a chill in the air.

"The opening ceremony can finally begin!"

Chorused, well-practiced, and the enthusiasm in their mechanical voices was downright unnerving. The multi-coloured bears resumed their playful bantering, lines of utter gibberish with no other use than to lighten the mood, but Shuichi was no longer listening.

"It appears that we have to go to the gym," Tojo said, grimacing just the slightest, "we should do as they say, lest there be consequences."

Shuichi nodded along absently, unsteady on his feet as the maid ushered him out of her room. "Perhaps you should head out first. I did hear Akamatsu-san calling for you earlier."

"Ah... thank you, Tojo-san." Glancing at his palms once again, bandaged with loving care, and he slid them into his pockets. Out of sight, out of mind. "I'll see you later."

Departing with a weak nod, and the detective found his mind in pieces once more. A familiar voice carried across the courtyard after he left the dormitories, sending a cold rush down his spine. Shuichi halted in his tracks and turned stiffly, eyes widening-

The figure under the pavilion was unidentifiable at first glance. Arms akimbo, stance wide, and throaty laughter, as a distant smudge of lilac. Breath catching, steps quickening, closer, now. The sight of comically gel-spiked hair, like a burlesque parody of a rocket, blazer half-fluttering in the breeze.

"...Luminary of the Stars!"

He was speaking to Gonta, making exaggerated motions with his arms. The astronaut's complexion was ruddy past his light tan, radiating health, movements no longer slurred with illness.

"...Momota-kun."

Shuichi stuttered his name, throat raw with emotion. The astronaut turned around, brows arched in question, a look of surprise. His knees gave out under him, and Gonta moved to catch him with a shout, automatic and quick.

"Gonta saw you gonna fall! Gonta gentleman, tried to stop... but seem to fail- "

Sprawled across the courtyard gravel, all decorum abandoned, pathetic and pitiable, but he couldn't be less bothered. A tingling sensation shot up his shin, biting, spreading to his knee - abrasion from his fall, bleeding into his hair-trigger emotions.

"Hey, uh, you alright? That seemed like a pretty bad fall - woah, are you crying?" Momota kneeled beside him, mystified beyond belief. Clearly baffled, just like Akamatsu, with no indication of knowing him beyond a simple stranger.

The detective remembered Harukawa's tear-filled look of horror with shocking clarity, driving home the injustice of his execution. Blood spilling from Momota's mouth, staining the front of his shirt - and in hindsight, he was able to recall each moment the sickness stole a part of his friend away, telltale signs that he'd dismissed to the backburner in favour of optimism and trust.

Shuichi brought his sleeve across his eyes, biting back tears. This show of vulnerability was nothing new to the Momota he'd once known, but now there was something perverse about such a display, like an intimacy lost.

"Man... guys shouldn't cry so easily," Momota said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, "you already know my name, huh? I bet you've heard of me somewhere on the news, but I'll introduce myself again. I'm Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars!"

Momota puffed out his chest with a confident smirk, and Gonta took the cue to introduce himself as well. They looked at him expectantly, mirroring smiles of a quality so misplaced in a murderous game, and he nearly lost all heart to break the news to them.

A small part of him preened at the innocence in the air, wanting nothing more than for it to stay. Immortalise the moment, frame it on a wall, picture-perfect; but the more he dwelled on it, the deeper the proverbial knife would sink when the peace was inevitably shattered.

Shuichi opened his mouth to speak, to say anything at all- _lie, lie_\- but his voice was empty, his own name dying at the tip of his tongue. _'Recognise me,'_ an unvoiced plea, falling on deaf ears, choking him with sadness, _'recognise me, Momota-kun, anyone-'_

Boisterous shouts echoed across the courtyard, cutting his thoughts short, and several blobs of varying shapes and colours could be seen bounding excitedly toward them. Yellow, Green, Red - and his gaze lingered on the splash of blue, heart stuttering to a stop in his chest.

Laughing along with Akamatsu, Yonaga, Yumeno, and Chabashira was the one person he never wanted to see again. The Mastermind of the killing game, taking them for fools, sidling by accusations with a guileless facade, and he'd been none the wiser. Therein hid a fiendish, foxy soul under her impressions, one that would stop at nothing to win the game, and he'd been blindsided in his relentless pursuit of the truth.

And he'd thought that it was over: They'd pitted their wits against each other, struggling for their lives in the trial to end all trials, and -

Here she was again. Living, breathing, in the flesh.

"Yoohoo! Helloo friends!" Yonaga twittered, waving at them with youthful, carefree vigour. "There's been an announcement! Atua said that it's pretty important, so we came to gather everyone!"

"We decided to come on our own," Yumeno quickly added with a sneer. She stole a glance at them, mouth downturned into her usual pout - and Shuichi could see little trace of the person she had developed into after Shinguji's execution. "Not cuz of Atua, or whatever."

Chabashira flitted around the magician nervously, flushed and bothered, and the detective remembered how far she had been willing to go for her in an act of love. The entire trial was a sordid affair, reaffirming the purity of Chabashira's intentions - and as transient or childish an infatuation it was, there was no denying the fact that Chabashira had ultimately saved Yumeno from an untimely death.

"I don't get it," the aikido master scowled, though it lacked any actual malice, "we came all the way out here to talk to some degenerate males? What a waste of time!"

"D-degenerate males?" Momota choked, and Akamatsu spared the astronaut an apologetic glance as she ran to his side, evidently flustered.

"Saihara-kun! I was looking for you everywhere - "

But Shuichi could not turn his gaze away from the bespectacled girl who had yet to speak, content with blending into the crowd as always. As if sensing eyes on her, Shirogane lifted her head demurely, catching his stare - time slowing, coming to a standstill, her lips parting, curving into a smile.

Malicious, vengeful, and knowing.

Their surroundings dulled to white noise, and it felt akin to staring down the barrel of a gun, faced with seconds to live -

A body moved to block her from his sight, and his vision swam back into focus. Lethargically, as slow as molasses, and he'd caught Shirogane's expression shutter back to normal from the corner of his eye, her smirk falling like curtains on a well-rehearsed act.

"You okay? You zoned out for a bit, there." Akamatsu frowned at him worriedly, and he barely registered her firm grip on his shoulders. "We should get to the gym soon."

The girls made to leave together, and Akamatsu gave him a worried once-over before she was dragged away by the rest. Momota parted just as quickly, pausing momentarily to give him a hearty pat the back - and he was convinced he was alone till a large hand touched his head tentatively, nudging the rim of his hat over his eyes, turning his world black for a second.

"Gonta not sure... but is Saihara-kun okay?"

Fixing his hat, the detective exhaled shakily, pressing his palms against his forehead. A warm body settled beside him, a comforting presence, and the gentle giant allowed the silence to lapse.

"Sometimes... Gonta also nervous. Like now. But Saihara-kun seems worse. So Gonta no can leave you."

Shuichi couldn't help a small, dry chuckle. Till the end, Gonta had maintained his childlike innocence - even when he'd been chained to a wooden stake, set to burn for a crime he had no memory of committing. "Gonta-kun..."

Gonta made a noise of acknowledgement, and the detective slouched into his palms, curling into himself with another deep, shuddering breath before he spoke again. "Thank you."

Shuichi wavered unsteadily as he rose to his feet, and Gonta made to support him, holding him with such tender care that he felt a surge of indignance then - aggrieved, red-hot anger, for an innocent soul wronged and corrupted far beyond what was warranted.

"Gonta welcome. Glad he helped."

Gonta smiled at him warmly, and Shuichi made a decision then, swallowing his feelings like a bitter pill. Donning a mask, smiling for an unseen audience, a salute to the watchers. Shuichi would acknowledge this unvoiced challenge, he'd beat them at their own game like he'd done before, undoing his mistakes-

This time, he wouldn't allow anyone to die.

* * *

After speaking to Gonta in hushed tones, Shuichi left alone, meandering the familiar path to the backyard, opening the door to find -

A sleek plumage, black as night, nestled atop the manhole behind the main building. The backyard was home to many plant species. Columns of overgrown ivy hung from rusty plumbing vents, spilling across the turfgrass to entwine with gnarly roots, infusing the air with a crisp, bucolic taste. But the atrium was deathly silent, missing the monotonous drone of cicadas, the sound of animal-life – and the sight of it so incongruous, Shuichi was convinced it was a mirage.

The bird was motionless, and for a moment he'd thought it to be dead, a cold carcass left as a sick joke by one of the Monokubs. Approaching it carefully, steps feather-light, hovering hands feeling displaced – and Shuichi kneeled with aching slowness, studying the fluorescent streaks dancing across its down from the skylights above.

But its vanes rippled when Shuichi's finger came within a hair's breadth, and it roused to life, shooting to the rafters in a flurry of feathers. And the detective was so startled that he'd simply forgotten to react, left gaping at the bird for a good minute or two.

_'It's alive,'_ was the first thought to cross his mind, absolute disbelief, _'there was no way, there was no animal-life in the academy-'_ The bird made a shrill whistle then, its cries tapering into a mellow gurgle. Eyes keen and inky bright, screaming _alive, alive, alive_\- watching him intently, cocking its head in curious nature.

Out of the corner of his eye, the manhole winked at him from the ground, and he was suddenly reminded of his initial reason for coming to the backyard. 

The end of the death road was nothing but an illusion. A despair-inducing distraction, meant to inject excitement into the killing game for the pleasure of the onlookers. The world wasn't ruined, quite the contrary; the glimpse he had gotten revealed a world that was more futuristic than he'd ever remembered. He'd seen the outside world with his own eyes before - _the truth about the outside world_ \- and it was perfect, real, and they could escape from this game- 

Only, Shuichi had no one to share this sentiment with.

The detective stared at the manhole and got to his knees after a beat. Fuelled by impulse and a kiss of madness, he began digging into the loose soil and grass with his hands, grimacing through the stinging cuts on his palms. Tossing chunks over the manhole cover until not a sliver of metallic bronze could be seen, and he smoothened it over, adding in bits of bush and shrubbery.

The bird cried out as Shuichi dragged an ivy-riddled wooden crate over the manhole, concealing it from sight for good. Flapping its wings, obviously unsettled, shifting on the overhanging beam. The detective raised a finger to his lips to quiet the bird, and he wondered if he might be losing his mind to be speaking to animals. His palms felt white-hot, but he couldn't feel the pain, dulled by adrenaline and an onrush of 'what-ifs'.

This time, he wanted to see what they would do.

* * *

The Monokubs had gathered them in the gym for the grand reveal of the killing game, and the dialogues from each student were laughably predictable - cookie-cutter remarks that he’d anticipated, but this time he’d stopped Akamatsu before she could provoke the bear further.

“No... don’t,” Shuichi remembered saying, when she began turning pink in anger. He’d reached for her wrist, hoping that the act itself would suffice to calm her, but the Ultimate Pianist only turned accusing eyes on him, and he nearly recoiled from the force of her rage.

“No matter what you say… we won’t do it!" She spat, jaw set, whirling around to face Monokuma. "We’ll never participate in a killing game! Whatever you have planned, I’m not gonna let you get away with it!”

A murmur rose from the rest of the students, and Monokuma simply laughed.

“No, no! I welcome her resistance! That kinda defiant spirit is important to the killing game.” The bear continued to say, squeaky voice holding cheer, but Shuichi knew that she had stepped on a nerve. “It’s fun to watch the defiant ones eventually snap, and get their hands dirty.”

Akamatsu had declared her defiance openly, and he was no fool – he knew that Monokuma had orchestrated the first murder to drive home a point: Be compliant or be killed. It had been set up as a coincidence, but he doesn’t want to run the risk of losing her again, even if he had to expose the Shirogane's doings before it was too late.

“It never gets old! It’s so fun and entertaining that I just get un-BEAR-ably pumped up!” For a second, he could’ve sworn that he’d seen Monokuma cast a malicious grin his way, and he stepped back, struck with an unexplainable, unbridled fear.

With a dramatic flourish, the bears exit, and shrill chimes carried throughout the gym as their Monopads flickered to life. Rules of the killing game flashed across the screen in the bold, childish font he’d become accustomed to, but he couldn't still his shaking fingers, soundly unnerved by that exchange.

Akamatsu was already conversing with the rest of the students, exchanging indignant, hope-filled cries. Rallying the students behind a common cause, a pledge of friendship; and Shirogane played along perfectly, saying just the right things to remain dour, but she seemed nervous, uneasy-

Gonta moved to his side, fidgetting mildly, looking guilty beyond measure. Shuichi managed to convince him against informing the others about the manhole he'd seen, and if his memory served him right, the entomologist was the only one to have noticed it previously. The detective caught Shirogane's wandering stare locking on the insect-expert, confusion emerging-

The students began discussing their plan of action, oblivious to the existence of the manhole, and he felt a knot unwind in his chest. His plan had worked. Shuichi sneaked a glance at Shirogane, and she looked furious, a picture of controlled anger. The live audience made sure of the fact that she wouldn't dare break any rules - not blatantly, at the very least.

It was possible. He'll rewrite the fates of his friends, and beat the Mastermind at her own game.

"Saihara-kun, are you with us?"

Shuichi glanced up, and Akamatsu wore the most determined smile on her face, shining with a brand of vigour that he had missed dearly. They decided to move their discussions elsewhere - the dining hall, driven by several hunger complaints, coupled by Tojo's offers to make tea - and as the students shuffled out of the gym, he noticed a familiar greenhead approach the pianist with a wry smile and a few choice words. “…they’re gonna come for you, Akamatsu-san. With everything they’ve got.”

Akamatsu’s face fell, but she quickly brightened up when he’d joined her at her side. “Well, there’s no use thinking about it right now. We should just head to the dining hall."

The Ultimate Pianist tugged him out of the gym by his wrist, and Shuichi smiled at her fondly, sadly, struck by a keen sense of nostalgia. He hadn't spent as much time with her unlike previously, but he supposed some things never did change - she was naturally drawn to his company as he was to hers, like a moth to a flame, a natural pair.

There was something else he needed to get done, a gnawing itch that wouldn't disappear the moment he'd seen Amami again. Looking back, the boy had been extremely cryptic, arousing suspicions that he'd known far more about their circumstances than they'd been privy to. But he was murdered in cold blood before he could reveal anything else, all to cover for an oversight on the Mastermind's part, and it had been unfair, so unfair -

"Akamatsu-san, um," Shuichi said, pulling away gently, "I'll join you later, I forgot something in the gym."

"Did you?" The girl tilted her head curiously. "Let's go back then."

"No, erm-" Fumbling for an excuse, because it was imperative that she was exempted from any harm, "actually... I need to use the restroom."

"Oh, alright," Akamatsu said, sounding a bit empty, and he'd mentally kicked himself for leaving her alone again. But then she smiled, raising her two arms in a 'go-get-them' gesture, and he was reminded of everything so inherently _her_. "Don't be too long, we should stay strong during these times!"

With a wave of her hand and a warm smile, the pianist disappeared down the hallway, and the detective watched her go. Half-jogging back to the gym, shoes skidding against linoleum, and he was relieved to find the object of his musings still present. "Amami-kun."

The boy jumped at his name, turning away from the stage he'd been inspecting. "Ah, Saihara-kun. I thought you left with everyone else."

Shuichi shook his head, stealing surreptitious glances around the empty gym. "No. I wanted to talk to you about something."

Amami blinked at him in surprise, before smiling serenely. "Sure," he said with a gentle tilt of his head, "what a surprise, I didn't think the Ultimate Detective would seek me out so soon." He paused, turning to the stage with a thoughtful hum. "So, you realised that there's something off about everything too, huh?"

Pin-drop silence, and Shuichi watched the greenhead kneel before the stage area, back turned. For a brief moment, he pictured himself looming over him, a shotput ball in hand, striking like a serpent. Vulnerable, open, and careless. He credited him for his cognizance, but he was still human. A survivor, notwithstanding his flaws, but human, no less.

"So, what of it, Saihara-kun?" Shuichi blinked, and Amami turned to face him, expression indecipherable, "you probably already figured it out."

Before he could reply, a flash of blue intercepted his line of sight, and Shuichi stumbled back in shock. The Ultimate Cosplayer stood between them, pouting perfectly, and he felt his blood run cold. "Oh, what a secret rendezvous! Are the two of you talking about anime? Maybe a super-secret shameful genre? I can sense these things from a mile away!"

Giggling, cheeks flushed in excitement, but the detective knew better. Amami stumbled back as well, taken aback by her sudden appearance, drawing up his hands in a placating gesture. "Ah... no. Saihara-kun just wanted to talk to me about something. Unless, it's that...?"

Shuichi shook his head quickly when the greenhead looked to him for confirmation, eyeing the girl with vague caution, like that of entrapped prey in a beast's lair. "No, it's-"

"Then, you can hold it off till later, can't you?" Shirogane interrupted, pressing her hands together, tips of her fingers grinding, imploring, "it'll be rude to exclude everyone from your conversations, especially when there's already so much tension in the air." She sighed sadly, spirits falling, adding to the effect. "With the killing game announced and all... I am a bit afraid. Could I follow you both to the dining hall?"

Shuichi wanted to protest, but Amami looked conflicted, entirely sympathetic to her plight. "...of course. We should stick together in times like this. I'm sure Saihara-kun would agree too."

Amami turned his back to them, making to leave, and the detective caught a glimpse of her face, very much like the cat that got the cream, smug and satisfied. His skin prickled, hair standing, and the girl cocked her head at him sweetly, glasses flashing.

"Saihara-kun can continue his conversation later. He wouldn't want to disturb the peace, would he?"

The unvoiced threat lingered, like a blade to his throat, nicking his skin with playful glee. And the detective forced a smile, playing along, thinking, _i see, this is how you want to play it_ \- clenching his fists by his sides, returning a nod. "Shirogane-san is wise. Experience, perhaps?"

Two could play at this game. The girl's expression darkened, flipping sides like a coin. A glare so cold, he could feel icicles forming in its wake.

"Maybe not," Amami injected, chuckling uneasily, "it pays to be cautious, more often than not."

Shirogane brightened, smiling again. "...right, Amami-kun understands!"

Two individuals, standing at parallels, sinking into a companionable silence. A masquerade for two, three, for an audience that knew no charity. A murderer and their would-be victim, taking their places on the stage, for their final act.

It called for an intermission.

* * *

After night fell, he sneaked out of his room, slinking up the stairway in his threadbare socks, steps hushed to a whisper. Rain drummed against the windows, blanketing the isolated building in calm and serenity. The smell of asphalt and petrichor, suffusing his senses. It hadn't rained on the first night before, if his memory was to be trusted.

Knocking on a door, double-checking the pixelated portrait to be sure, and the detective fidgeted outside for what felt like too long. Apart from the humdrum rhythm of the rain, the dormitory was deathly quiet at night. As if afraid of what the darkness could bring, most students kept themselves shut-in, their close proximities a forced inconvenience rather than an otherwise comfort.

The door opened a crack, light spilling into the liquid darkness, and eyes of a vibrant green quality flickered to meet his, shadowing in recognition.

"It's you," said dully, with little inflection, and the host of the room glanced around cursorily, beckoning him inside with a nod. "Come on in."

Amami closed the door after he entered, flicking the lock with a troubled sigh. "Sorry, you know how it is. Can't really afford to trust anyone in this situation."

Shuichi nodded in understanding, taking off his socks for good etiquette. He took the time to survey the room. Exactly a copy of his own, with no visible discrepancies. Wardrobe, bed, desk. There was a rack for miniature Monokumas, empty, as of now. Sheets made, chair out. Table empty, like he'd been sitting there for hours, staring at nothing.

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Amami folded his arms and leaned against the door, watching him with an intensity bordering on feigned disinterest. "Or are you actually here to kill me?"

Spoken with a hint of humour, yet a distinct bite. The detective hovered beside the bed, contemplating, before sitting himself at the edge. He twiddled his thumbs, then moved to play with the lint on the sheets, casting his gaze to the carpeting.

"You probably already figured it out," Shuichi reiterated, in a low murmur, "earlier, what did you mean by that?"

"Oh." The light in his eyes dimmed, and the greenhead looked away with a sheepish chuckle. "The game, I mean. The nature of this killing game. As the Ultimate Detective, I'm sure you've made your own theories."

Shuichi leaned forward, lacing his fingers together, slightly shaking, stilling. "But, Amami-kun... that's not what you meant, was it?"

Straight to the point. Ripped off like a band-aid, gathering little of a flinch, and his companion remained impassive. Shuichi waited, but a reply doesn't come, and the air only eased when he decided to speak again.

"You've done this before," said the detective, soft as the rain, "haven't you?"

Chest tightening, enveloped in suffocating silence, and Amami doesn't move. Gaze flitting to the dresser, fingers twitching, imperceptible. Locking back on him, a decision made. "What do you mean?"

"This isn't your first time participating in this killing game. You survived the last game, only to be placed in another one. This one, to be exact." Breathing in deep, holding it. "Am I wrong?"

The wind outside picked up, screaming it's discontent, muffling his last sentence. Rainwater seeped in through the gap under the door, pooling at his feet, a visual discomfort.

Amami tucked his hands into his pockets, drawing out a long sigh. "...what are you playing at? Blackmail, Saihara-kun?"

"No." Anger, now, rushing forefront. Voice cracking, uncharacteristic enough to give the other pause. Then Shuichi faltered, softening. "I... would never do something like that. I just wanted to talk."

An implicit knowledge that any faith was unfounded this early, yet indulging in the wishful hope for even a modicum of it. Believe me, believe me - cries that melded into a cacophony of voices, drowning in a sea of truth and lies, always leading to death, then some more.

"But that's unfathomable, isn't it? Suggesting something like that," Amami said, half a smile, "you will need to have implicit knowledge of the game."

Tables turned, fingers pointing, accusing. A defensive flair, unjustified in the context of innocence.

"What are you hiding yourself, Saihara-kun?"

Shuichi stared at him wordlessly. "Amami-kun," he said slowly, after a long moment, "even if I were to say the most unbelievable things right now, even if you might not trust me... will you listen?"

"That depends," Amami said after a pause, cautious for all its worth, "this is still a killing game, after all."

"You'll die by tomorrow," the detective said quietly, "so does any of that really matter?"

The room went still. Amami, motionless, leaning against the hardwood door. Eyes widening after a beat, looking up to regard him proper.

"Because even your Ultimate talent didn't grant you immunity from death, Amami-kun."

"How?" Amami muttered heavily, "how did you know?"

A shock went through the room, a jarring new energy. The implications sink in soundly, and the detective watched as the Ultimate Survivor dropped all preamble, exhaling in defeat.

"I'm not a bad guy. I believe you understood why I chose to hide it. You would've done the same. Anyone would've." Amami rounded the bed, resting a heavy hand against the desk drawer. "The question is, what will you do now?"

The Ultimate Survivor's expression was one of tentative resignation. For all his doubts, the detective could read his mind like a book - _expose my secret, offer a deal, here, show the proof -_

"I didn't tell anyone," the detective said quickly, adding, "please trust me."

The greenhead chuckled, ghost of humour. "Trust but verify. I could be an expert murderer, Saihara-kun. I could kill you right now, in this room, and no one would be any wiser."

He tapped the surface of the drawer, foreboding, a hand poised to pull it open. "There could be a murder tool right here. What makes you so certain there isn't?"

The second Monopad must be hidden in the drawer. Shoved carelessly inside when he'd knocked, and Amami must have been pondering over the details of the academy map, drafting a plan to investigate the hidden room -

"But it is a murder tool," Shuichi said softly, "it led you to the library, didn't it?"

Amami's gaze read several hundred emotions, distilling into something clear, singular. Understanding, above all else, and a pinch of grudging respect.

"Well, Saihara-kun," said Amami, with a hint of a wry smile, "I'm listening now."

* * *

Shuichi left Amami's room well after midnight. Coldness seeped through his socks, clinging to his feet like a damp blanket. Rain was still coming down in sheets, and there was a small flooding situation on the lower floor. The detective moved down the slippery steps, nudging the double doors open a crack. _Where was it coming from?_

It appeared to originate from outside the dome, penetrating through the glass like it was entirely plausible for the effects of weather to be exempted from the laws of physics. The rain felt entirely real - the damp environment, the smells - but it was impossible for natural rain to occur within the dome. _Weather machine. It wouldn't be surprising._

A yawn overcame him, and he felt his entire body deflating, collapsing into itself like a house of cards. Absolutely exhausted, shoulders hunching, wondering briefly if he'd wake up tomorrow to find himself in another bed. _Just like in a simulation._ It would explain the resurrection of the dead. Everything digitalised, fictional, life and death drafted in lines of code. Similar to the Neo World program, only that there was no threat of actual death, and the program was broadcasted as entertainment to the masses -

_But it felt too real to be a simulation._

Too complex, and incorporating a virtual reality simulator within another ongoing simulation this convincing demanded avant-garde technology.

Shuichi turned, and nearly screamed when he collided into a smaller body, flailing, catching himself on the doorjamb. The detective took one look at the person before him and suppressed a groan, eyes sliding shut in an attempt to calm his rapid breathing.

"Nyehehe, did Saihara-chan think I was a ghost?" The snigger was delighted, wrapped in tones of mirth. "How rude. Here I was, thinking I'd check on some weirdo creeping around in the middle of the night, only to be screamed at."

Opening his eyes once more, and the supreme leader was peering at him with faux concern, cheeks dimpled, the picture of innocence. Donning his signature white suit, checkered scarf absent, exposed skin milky pale in the moonlight.

"Ouma-kun..." The detective trailed off as a mess of unrecognisable blood and gore flashed through his mind, vanquishing any and all anger. "...don't, don't scare me like that."

Then Ouma grinned, mischevious and chaotic, and it's everything he remembered him to be and more. "Oh? Is Saihara-chan easily frightened?"

Before Shuichi could respond, the supreme leader lurched forward, hands raised as cat-claws - "Boo!" - and this time the detective startled so violently that he tripped on air, landing on the hard floor. Rainwater soaked through his pants, and he cringed, bracing himself against the wall.

Laughter rang in Shuichi's ears, obnoxiously merry, but no real irritation gathered, and the detective merely sighed. "What are you doing out so late?"

Ouma pretended to consider the question, humming in thought. "Hm, I would say that I came out to investigate a strange figure loitering around the dorms at two in the morning, but I doubt you'll believe that."

The supreme leader turned to him with a sly smile, a finger placed on his lips, as if he was imparting a well-kept secret. "You're a detective, after all. The most trustable person here... it would be such a shame if he were to betray them, right?"

Shuichi frowned as a chill crept up his spine. "What?"

"What I'm saying is," the supreme leader leaned forward, face shadowed by untamed purple locks, "I could ask you the same question. What are you doing out so late, Saihara-chan?"

"Ah..." Stifling the spike of panic, Shuichi replied more calmly, "...um, the rain woke me up, so I left my room to investigate." A poorly veiled lie, unravelling before it even left his mouth, and he watched it fall apart before his very eyes. Ouma's smile doesn't falter, but something in his expression does.

"The rain is very interesting, isn't it?" said with a laugh, and the supreme leader twirled on the balls of his feet, away from him, strolling a few feet before he spoke again, "it's a pity we can't play in the backyard during this storm."

Shuichi froze, and Ouma inched toward him slowly. Smile curving into something maniacal, voice dropping an octave, "how about it? A talented liar like me can spot other people's lies easily."

Ouma's gaze flitted to the detective's hands, briefly, and his blood ran cold. Looking down, Shuichi's worst fears are confirmed, and his own nails are tinted brown, stubborn soil residue that wouldn't wash away. He had been careless; Gonta wasn't the only one to have noticed the manhole.

"I..." Deflecting it was futile, at this point. Ouma had always been exceptionally perceptive. "...what's your point, Ouma-kun?"

Ouma's smile doesn't falter. "Hm? You're not going to deny it?"

Ignoring the obvious jab, the detective decided to cut straight to the chase. "...I've been down the manhole before. It would only make everyone more disheartened, so I... there wouldn't be any point. It's not worth the time, really."

Ouma cocked his head to the side, twirling a dark strand around his forefinger, "Hmm? But it's impossible to know that, right? The lid was so heavy... unless, you asked someone really strong... oh! I know!" His smile grew impossibly wide. "Gonta!"

Lightning outside illuminated half of Ouma's profile eerily, if only for a second. Violet pools swam with something inscrutable, staring through him - and Shuichi stared back, incriminating radio silence. A minute, then two -

"Mmm. Nothing to say?" The supreme leader said, and his maniacal expression lifted, lips twisting, disappointed, "how boring. I thought you'd be more interesting. Whatever, I'm sleepy now."

Ouma stepped back, throwing his arms up in an exaggerated stretch and yawn. Eyes lidded, falling shut, childish and vulnerable- meeting his, suddenly mischevious.

Jumping forward, Ouma plucked his hat off his head without warning, a sliver of a smile. Shuichi started at the cold slap of air against his scalp, but the prankster was quicker, dodging his hands with shocking agility.

"Ouma-kun...!"

Dancing well out of reach, waltzing to his room, and Ouma pulled the hat over his wild bangs, fitting snug as a glove. Laughing without a care in the world, and his hold on the rim of the hat was tight, unrelenting. "Saihara-chan looks better without that emo-hat. Sleep tight, don't let the bed bugs bite!"

Then as abruptly as Ouma appeared, he was gone.

The sound of the rain returned, deafening, and the detective picked himself off the floor, clothes dripping and limp. Shuichi staggered back to his room, wary of his impending headache, a common theme in his encounters with the self-proclaimed supreme leader.

Till the very end, Ouma remained an enigmatic puzzle. A Mobius strip, unorientable, single-minded, an equation of duality. Switching sides as he pleased, playing the game of little consequence- and he'd left them with more questions than answers, throwing them a line within the pitch darkness.

Brushing the top of his head, arousing a spike of annoyance, but Shuichi wondered, belatedly, why he hadn't the mind to remove his hat earlier. Catching his reflection in the mirror, skin sickly dull, eyes dead - those belonging to someone who has seen enough for one lifetime, and it's a wonder that Ouma hadn't thought him the spectre instead.

_But it's more comfortable._

'Without the hat'- gone unsaid, needn't be said, whispered to no one in particular. Resting his head against the pillow, arm slipping underneath, cradling, filling an absent warmth. Exhaustion soon eclipsed his thoughts, and he slipped into a restless slumber-

Silence.

Disrupted only by the ruffling of wet feathers, then a soft croon, weakened in the storm. _Lonely, lonely, lonely_\- succeeded by a flash of lightning- _no, no fear_, illuminating the courtyard, rousing the barest of movement.

And his dreams remained restless.

**Author's Note:**

> My goal: Write a fic that convincingly brings the two boys together in a bid to escape the killing game... and with two individuals that come to rely on each other through tribulations like no other, perhaps, something will spark in the midst of it all.
> 
> A lot of sadness in this chapter. It'll be pretty slow (detailed) for this first repeat, but the story should pick up its pace after that. Drop a comment if you're so kind! It'll make my day. <3
> 
> Follow me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/foxx_chibi) if you wish!


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